


An Unexpected Disruption

by harryhotspur



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Goats, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Laughter During Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Morning Sex, Pre-Canon, Softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29105994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harryhotspur/pseuds/harryhotspur
Summary: Early in their forming relationship, Yusuf and Nicolò share a sleepy morning togetherorit's a lovely morning in 1140s Malta and you are an awful goat
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 24
Kudos: 122
Collections: All and More (18+) Kaysanova Gift Bag 2020





	An Unexpected Disruption

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fonulyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fonulyn/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [fonulyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fonulyn/pseuds/fonulyn) in the [All_and_More_Gift_Bag_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/All_and_More_Gift_Bag_2020) collection. 



> All and More discord server gift bag fill for the lovely fonulyn, covering their prompts: _"accidentally confessing feelings, sleepy morning sex, laughter during sex things go wrong or something unintentionally hilarious happens, but it in no way ruins the mood_ "
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this little fic. 
> 
> Thanks to the fam: Mags, yu_gin, Dani, for your proofreading assistance, I'd be lost without you all.

Nicolò awoke to the comforting presence of Yusuf at his back. 

It hadn’t always been like this. But after the blood, the deaths, the misunderstandings, the fear, the guilt, the rage and the pain, Nicolò was still a little astounded that they were where they were now. In his wildest dreams, he’d never thought he would be so blessed to feel how he felt about the man who snored lightly next to him. 

Nicolò rolled over on the small bed, still in Yusuf’s arms, but now facing towards him rather than away. Yusuf stirred and snuffled his nose into Nicolò’s shoulder; his feet twitched a little underneath the blanket. Outside of the thin walls of the small homestead, Nicolò could hear the rain pattering off the trodden earth outside the door. He knew from the way the tiny white crack of light crept in under the door and stretched out across the floor that outside the dawn had broken. Yusuf stirred against him again, mumbling something unintelligible against him in his sleep. He always slept longer, especially in the summer months when he awoke in the middle of the night a few hours before dawn, laid out his prayer mat and prayed _fajr._ If the times aligned, Nicolò also took up a space next to Yusuf to recite Matins. Together they were an unlikely but mirrored pair - Yusuf on his prayer mat, Nicolò kneeling against the small stool they sat on to chop vegetables as if it was an altar - both praying in their own language; both sharing an act of devotion and love. 

Over the last decades, Nicolò had been much more interested in figuring out the ways they were alike than different. 

With a yawn, Nicolò stretched on the straw mattress and scrubbed a hand across his tired eyes. Soon, the goats would need to be fed and milked; the eggs from the chickens collected; the weeds - no doubt abundant now from all the rain - removed from the vegetable patch. There was a satisfaction to this work, to ending each day with dirt between his fingernails; to be able to see the plants sowed in spring bloom into food they could eat; to build a fence, plaster a wall, repair a leak. After the damning realisation that he had devoted so much of his life in pursuit of destruction, Nicolò had realised he gained much greater satisfaction out of fixing things. He couldn’t fix everything of course, even on the little island they now called home there were Normans stationed in the castles. Likewise, when Nicolò had gone to the market - to barter some of the soft cheese for wheat to ground into flour - there had been whispers from one of the merchants that the Byzantines were getting ready to invade again. It seemed the two of them were always haunted by constant reminders of the conflict which had brought them both together. Despite the efforts of them both to escape it, to just have some time to settle down for a little bit, reminders followed them constantly like a hoard of vengeful spirits. 

The pitter-patter of rain on the roof grew heavier, almost drowning out the soft bleats of the goats. Nicolò sighed - he really did need to go outside and check on them. But, for now, he was warm and safe in Yusuf’s arms. 

The goats could wait a few minutes. 

Yusuf looked so calm in sleep, his eyes closed, mouth pulled in a soft line, his curls (shorter than when they had first met) fell around his face. Absentmindedly, Nicolò brushed one of the tight spirals out of his face and traced a finger down the line of his jaw. Yusuf’s mouth twitched, he mumbled and blearily opened one eye. 

“Nico-” he said, his voice still heavy with sleep. “Wha- time is it?” In the past decades they had known each other, they had fallen into using a pidgin of Arabic and Zeneize. Yusuf - much more suited to language learning - had picked up many more Zeneize words; Nicolò was still struggling, languages came less naturally to him. He found himself stumbling when forming the sounds and floundering to connect the meanings to the words Yusuf mouthed slowly to him. 

“Morning,” Nicolò laughed and pressed a kiss to Yusuf’s cheek. He opened both his eyes now and a soft sleepy smile passed over his face. 

“Nice view,” Yusuf mumbled and yawned loudly. His loose undershirt had slipped down over one of his shoulders in the night, revealing the tightly coiled hair on his chest. Nicolò longed to trace his fingers through it and press a kiss just below Yusuf’s clavicle. From the slight wry curve in Yusuf’s smile, Nicolò could tell he knew where his mind and eyes had wandered. Yusuf brushed a finger gently down Nicolò’s side, smoothing over the fabric of his loose tunic. He smiled at the way Nicolò shivered at the sensation. “Sumayl doesn’t need me to help with the accounts until this afternoon.” Yusuf stopped when he reached Nicolò’s hip; pushed the fabric up over it and slipped his hand up and over to let it rest in the crease of Nicolò’s groin. “We have some time.” 

Nicolò thought fleetingly about the goats. Then he thought much harder about the man in front of him; how much he wanted to touch him and be touched in return. He loved having sex in this sweet and sleepy way - apparently unique to early mornings - where time seemed like it actually did stretch out for the eternity it appeared they’d been promised. 

Nicolò leaned in and kissed Yusuf on the lips, softly at first and then becoming more languid and needy. As they kissed, Yusuf brushed a hand over Nicolò’s rear; traced between the crease and teased a finger around his entrance. He didn’t push inside but just gently thumbed around the rim in a slow circle. Nicolò knew that figuring out how much he liked that had been one of Yusuf's most prized recent discoveries. Nicolò gasped at the touch and pulled in closer in an attempt to close the minuscule gap between them. He reached out for Yusuf and stroked a hand up his inner thigh, through the tightly curled hair until he could rest Yusuf’s cock in his hand. 

“Is this what you want?” he whispered in the tone he knew sent Yusuf wild. It got the expected reaction, Yusuf moaned in affirmation, his eyes fluttered shut and Nicolò felt him grow harder under his touch. 

Yusuf followed and moved his hand around to wrap a hand around Nicolò’s half-hard cock. Nicolò cried out as Yusuf began to move, circling around the head and moving up and down. His movements were still languid from sleep and his body soft and pliable. Yusuf moaned as he matched and Nicolò felt the sound transform into a bloom of pleasure right in his lower belly. 

“Do that again,” he whispered, still a little self-conscious. “I - uh - like to hear you.” 

Yusuf obliged, treating him to a harmony of moans and whimpers as Nicolò touched him. 

“So good,” Yusuf mumbled, shifting between Arabic and Zeneize. “So good to me.” 

Nicolò allowed himself to disappear into the sensations, the feeling of closeness and connection. Over the sounds of their heavy breathing, Nicolò’s ears picked up the faintest bleating outside. He ignored it and leaned in further to enjoy the feeling of Yusuf’s thumb working around the head of his cock, his hot breath ghosting over his lips. They lay with their faces close together, just short of a kiss. Slowly, Nicolò worked his own hand up and down Yusuf’s cock. He fell into the rhythm that had taken him a little while to perfect, but which he now had down to a fine art. Yusuf bit down on his lower lip and let out a slow breathy moan. 

“Just like that,” he whispered lowly as Nicolò teased the heel of his hand over his balls. “Just like that.” 

Yusuf increased his pace, using the wetness from the tip of Nicolò’s cock to reduce the friction. From his touches, pleasure hummed down Nicolò’s thighs, his calves, down to his clenched toes. 

“Yes, Yusuf - Yes,” he whispered. His voice cut off into a moan as Yusuf returned to working around the head of his cock. It felt so good. Nicolò could just live in this sensation forever, forget about everything - all the hurt, all the pain - and spend the rest of their days in mutual worship of each other’s bodies. 

Suddenly, something wooden squeaked and then slammed open, wind and rain, cold for the climate, rushed into the room. Nicolò whipped his head around to see the window had been pushed open. In the now open frame, a small furry face peeked in through the drapes. 

_Maaa. Maaaa._

A small tan and white goat shook its head, its horn entangled in the drapes covering the window. 

“Oh Christ!” Nicolò exclaimed and removed his hand from Yusuf’s cock. It was a little too quick and Yusuf gasped, his breath leaving him in a punched out noise. Nicolò reached across the bed and made little shooing motions towards the window. “Bahja - no. _Shoo_.” 

The goat just stared back with slitted impassive eyes and started to chew on the curtain. 

“You’ll get your breakfast, _shoo._ Off the curtain - ” 

In desperation now, Nicolò pulled on it and tried to prise it out on the goat’s mouth. Yusuf had just finished sewing them the other week and Nicolò _really_ liked them. 

Nicolò yanked the curtain again and Bahja resisted. He locked eyes with the goat. She stared back with a look in her eyes that said: _I dare you._ Wanting nothing more than to return to previous - much more enjoyable - activities, Nicolò tugged hard on the fabric again. 

With a loud _riiiip_ the fabric tore. 

Nicolò swore loudly, “Damn goat!” 

With that Bahja seemed to get the hint. If a goat could roll its eyes in displeasure, Nicolò was sure that she would have done. She dipped her head downwards and disappeared from the other window. With a grunt, Nicolò slammed the window shut and pulled the now ripped curtains back over as best as he could. 

He looked back at Yusuf to see him lying on his side in the rumbled mass of blankets. Surprisingly his cock was still erect, less surprisingly he was laughing hysterically, so hard that tears were streaming down his face. 

“Your face,” he snorted and then fell into breathless giggles again. “Your _face._ ” And then he crooked his finger back towards him, indicating for Nicolò to resume their previous positions. Nicolò’s tunic had fallen back down over his lower half and he could feel his cock softening underneath it. Even so, he found himself also laughing at the situation. He walked on his knees back across the bed and lay down again next to Yusuf. Still laughing, Nicolò wrapped his hand back around Yusuf’s cock and gave it a cursory stroke. 

“I can’t believe that,” he exclaimed and then gasped as Yusuf wrapped his own hand back around his cock. Immediately, Nicolò found himself growing hard again. 

“That animal is rude,” Yusuf said, still chuckling. He looked pensive for a moment. “I do have a really good recipe for goat st-” 

His words cut off and his eyes fluttered shut as Nicolò began to move his hand up and down again. They fell into the same rhythm, slow and steady, matching the soft kisses they traded back and forth. Eventually their pace increased, Yusuf gripped onto Nicolò’s side, gasping into his shoulder. Pleasure built and built in Nicolò’s stomach and he felt like he was a river filled with rain after a storm, banks ready to burst. 

“Yusuf,” he whispered. “Yusuf, I’m going to -” 

Nicolò cried out as Yusuf quickened his pace. Through blurry eyes, he saw Yusuf throw his head back, mouth open, rapture written on his face. He was wondrous; he was beautiful; his very existence reaffirmed the presence of God. That was enough to tip Nicolò over the edge. He came, hard and quickly, spilling all over Yusuf’s hand and his thighs below. Through his own orgasm daze, he continued to stroke Yusuf faster in the way he knew he liked. Nicolò felt him tense, heard him emit a strangled cry, and then felt hot wetness cover his hand. 

Both breathing heavily, Nicolò snuggled in against Yusuf and allowed himself to float in the post-orgasm high. 

“I love you,” Yusuf whispered. 

“I love you too,” Nicolò said back, his voice muffled against Yusuf’s chest. 

This hadn’t been something they had been saying for long but every time they said those three words, it felt like something new and wonderful was being born. 

They’d initially said it accidentally - although Nicolò didn’t like to think of it as an accident. Yusuf had had his back pressed to the wall; Nicolò was on his knees before him, demonstrating that - during his years in the monastery - he had dedicated many hours to become a fiercely devoted follower of this _very particular_ type of worship. In pleasure, Yusuf had reached out and grabbed the table next to them. On it had sat a large pestle and mortar which Yusuf used to crush herbs and spices, both for cooking and medicine. When Nicolò had given Yusuf’s cock a particularly _fiendish_ mixture of long slow sucks and quick little licks, he had gripped onto the table harder. When Yusuf had come, trying to hold himself upright on shaking thighs, the sudden displacement of his weight through his hand and against the surface had caused the pestle and mortar to fall to the floor with a sickening crash. It had just narrowly missed Nicolò’s shoulder and smashed into pieces. Nicolò had started to carefully pick up the shards as Yusuf slid down the wall to join him on the floor. 

“I’ll get you a new one,” Nicolò had said, seeing Yusuf looking bereft at his smashed equipment.

“No, no,” Yusuf had replied. “We’ll get one together.” 

They had both reached out for the same shard and stopped. Their hands had ghosted over each other as a strange tension filled the air. Then, Yusuf had uttered: 

“I love you.” 

His face had immediately dropped as if he was worried he had said something wrong. As those three words had left Yusuf’s mouth, the world and all Nicolò’s wounds etched upon it had seemed to come apart at the seams and re-form again. A small silence had fallen between them. Then, four words had left Nicolò’s mouth like a reflex, like he had been born to say them: 

“I love you too.”

A heavy exhale had left Yusuf’s body and Nicolò had followed, not realising that he had been holding his breath as well. 

“I love you,” Yusuf had repeated as if he had to hear Nicolò say the words again. He'd repeated them back to him, softly and sincerely. 

Over the smashed pottery, their lips had met, the kiss had started chaste and then deepened. Nicolò had pulled Yusuf closer to him by the front of his tunic, grasping the material in his hands, feeling the muscles of his chest underneath. They’d pulled away and Nicolò had looked into Yusuf’s brown eyes. They had been filled with a feeling he hadn’t seen before. Nicolò had been seized by a thought that if it _was this_ that had caused Sodom and Gomorrah to fall - they could fall a thousand times. No city compared to this. 

In Malta, in _their_ bed - that word was still mind-blowing to Nicolò - they lay there for a few minutes and enjoyed the warmth and closeness. Nicolò eventually rolled over and sighed: “I should get up and see to the goats.” 

Yusuf pulled closer to him and grumbled: “Five more minutes.” 

“Okay, five more minutes,” Nicolò agreed. 

From outside, a faint bleating filtered in. 

**Author's Note:**

> Bahja, from my admittedly limited research, means beauty or happiness in Arabic - I think Yusuf is regretting his goat naming choices now. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fic <3


End file.
